


Aftermath

by muirgen_lys



Series: Annulment [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Child Death (not graphic), Emotional Hurt, Gen, PTSD, Violence against Children, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muirgen_lys/pseuds/muirgen_lys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of a companion piece to Liars, giving Fenris' perspective on the aftermath of the Right of Annulment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Shorter and less graphic than Liars, but still about dead children, so not exactly fluffy. Please do not take Fenris' lashing out in this as reflecting either my opinion or, I think, his - he's dealing with a lot and Anders is a convenient target.

The battle was done, but the damage remained. The abomination's cursed explosion had destroyed more than just the chantry, and the fighting afterwards had left its own wreckage. Demons and rogue Templars had drifted away from the centre of the combat and rampaged through the streets, leaving destruction, and terror in their wake.

There were many places that needed rebuilding, many people that needed saving. But Fenris was here, because Hawke was here, and Hawke, for all his flaws, was a good man. Fenris trusted him. He had fought for him despite his own reservations and he didn't regret it.

He did regret returning here. There were other places he could be, other buildings he could sift through. Instead he stood in front of the apprentices dorms in the Circle of Magi, frozen.

“Fenris? Are you going in or not?”

He shook his head. He was a warrior. He was used to the smell of blood, the sight of broken bodies. But the thought of walking into that room again filled him with a thick, choking dread that seemed to settle into his bones, icy and brittle. He couldn't have forced himself through that door for all the gold in Thedas.

Hawke seemed to read something of that on his face, and he turned away with a nod of acceptance. Fenris leaned against the wall, trying not to shake.

He'd seen dead children before. Some he had killed, himself - slaves whose blood Danarius had desired, children of the Fog Warriors, as punishment for their parents' protection of him. It shouldn't bother him so much anymore.

But he could not step into that room.

There was a noise and he looked up sharply, still on guard from the fight, but it was only the abomination. The human looked weary, drawn and haggard, and he carried a child in his arms. The girl was silent and still, her clothes and hair soaked in blood. She stared blankly at the warrior, as if caught in an instant of mindless horror, and he found himself unable to look away from her anguished eyes. He stared at her in silence, unable or unwilling to break this strange contact, pleading with her to understand. But there was nothing _to_ understand, and after a few seconds the abomination jerked him out of his thoughts.

“I suppose you're pleased,” the mage said bitterly. “Best thing for everyone, really.”

Rage flared through him, and he tore his eyes away from the child to glare at the healer. “You started this, mage,” he snapped. “Do not put your guilt on me.”

“Of course,” came the harsh reply. “Everything has to be a mage's fault. Even when we're the ones being slaughtered.”

Fenris swore at him under his breath, but managed to hold back the first scathing remark that came to mind. It was true that these deaths were on the mage's head, but what was the good in saying so? They were still dead, children butchered in their beds, some barely out of infancy, and arguing would do nothing to change that. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but somehow that made it no easier to bear.

They were dead because their protectors had turned on them, and no one had been there to stand in their defense.

 _He_ hadn't been there. Not in time.

He'd never had to clean up the bodies before. The Fog Warriors' had been left where they lay when Danarius took him back, and the murdered slave children had always been hauled away by others.

“They shouldn't have died.” His voice was quiet, burning with conviction. He had no idea what he meant to say next, but the words came spilling out anyway, as if a stranger were speaking through his lips. Except no stranger would know so exactly what he needed to say. “They were innocent. They did nothing to deserve this. This was punishment for your crimes, mage. It is only their misfortune that it fell on them instead of where it belongs.”

“You're naive,” the mage said tiredly. “This was a long time coming. Meredith's madness has been growing for months. She'd have turned on them sooner or later, and the longer she waited the worse it would have been.” Anders glanced down at the child in his arms. “It doesn't matter whether they're innocent,” he said. “That's the problem, Fenris. Their lives were forfeit the minute their magic was discovered. It doesn't fucking matter what they did or didn't do.”

Fenris turned away, rage and helpless fury blinding him. His brands felt hot, the metal radiating into his skin, and he realised he was crying. Behind him, he heard Anders sigh and walk away. He sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself, and gasped for breath. The tension of the night seemed to crash over him all at once, and he could almost feel the ghosts of the murdered mages surrounding him, demanding to know why this had been allowed to happen.

He had no answers, and he grit his teeth together, fighting back the sobs until he was outwardly composed, sitting on the floor, leaning against the stones. His horror and dread were firmly locked away behind walls of steel, and when Hawke came to check on him he met the other man's gaze without flinching.

“Fenris? How are you doing?”

He hauled himself to his feet, and shook his hair out of his eyes. _White hair - so distinctive! Wherever did you get him?_ How many children had died in his creation? He could imagine their blood pouring out onto the stones of Danarius' workshop. A minor sacrifice, for such a magnificent possession.

“I am well enough,” he said. “I can help.”

Hawke nodded solemnly and led him inside. “Most of them are dead,” he said, “but we found a few more live ones in the back corner, so we're checking all the beds. Start at this side and work your way down. Look under the beds. It looks like some of them managed to hide before the templars got here. They're jumpy, and sometimes they bite, so be careful.” He gestured. “Those ones have been checked. Start over here. Anyone you find alive, bring them outside to Bodahn. We're taking them to the manor for now.”

He nodded numbly. Hawke put a hand on his shoulder. “Take breaks if you need to,” he said. “This isn't easy on any of us, and...I know you've seen massacres before. There's no shame in needing to stop.”

He shook his head. “If there are children still alive in here they cannot wait. I will be fine.”

Hawke looked dubious, but he nodded. “If you say so. I'll leave you to it; I'm going to go check the other dorm.”

The other man walked away, leaving him alone among the carnage.


End file.
